


The Kiss

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: Dean kisses the reader, hoping to save her life. What happens when he takes her home?





	The Kiss

 

Dean pulled the car to a stop just outside your house and killed the engine. He followed you to the front door, stopping a couple of feet away from you as you unlocked it. You stepped inside, not bothering to close the door behind you, leaving it open. You felt defeated, angry, and honestly, stupid. All of this because you’d wanted back an asshole ex-boyfriend that didn’t deserve you anyway. 

“Fucking witches,” you muttered.

Dean chuckled from behind you. “My sentiments exactly.”

You giggled and shook your head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’d be dead without you and your brother. You, especially.” You swallowed nervously, remembering the kiss that had saved your life. “Thank you, Dean. You - well, you’re the reason I’m alive right now. Hands down, best kiss ever.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that was nothing,” he laughed, winking.

You laughed with him, shaking your head. You put your hand on his shoulder, pushed yourself up on your toes, and pressed a kiss to his scruffed cheek. His hand fell to your waist, his head turning slightly, his lips brushing against yours, a sigh coming from him. He took a step backwards, his face a mask of guilt.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “Shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, you take care of yourself. No more asshole boyfriends who associate with witches.” He reached for the doorknob, ready to leave.

“Do you want a beer or something?” you blurted. Christ, what were you thinking? Dean wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Most people didn’t. 

To your surprise, Dean stopped, his hand still on the knob, staring straight ahead, as if he was trying to bore a hole in the door with his eyes. He shook his shoulders out and turned slowly. “A beer sounds great,” he grinned.

He followed you through the house to the kitchen, sliding onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter. You grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and set one in front of Dean before sitting on the stool beside him, tipping your beer toward him in a half-hearted salute. The next few minutes were spent in comfortable silence, the two of you drinking your beers.

“How long did you date?” he asked out of nowhere.

“Too long,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Two years. God, I was so relieved when I finally got the nerve to break up with him. He was a jerk, never really cared about me. Teased me about my weight all the time, cruel, taunting jokes. My friends said he cheated on me from day one, though I refused to believe it. I never felt like a real woman when I was with him. He made me feel like trash. Breaking up with him was the best thing that ever happened to me. But Wes, he just couldn’t let me go, couldn’t move on. I never thought, never imagined that he’d try something so ridiculous, so crazy like asking a witch to cast a spell. Shit, I didn’t even think he cared about me.”

Dean took a swallow from is beer. “Desperate people do desperate things,” he shrugged. “He wanted you back. Or he thought he did. He thought the spell would work.”

“I thought he loved me,” you whispered. “When he came back, begging for another chance, I thought he’d changed.” You shrugged. “I was wrong. And, it turns out, I was very, very, stupid.” You dropped your head into your hands, unable to hold back the tears you’d been fighting all day. You couldn’t breathe and tears were pouring down your face. Almost dying would do that to a person. 

The next thing you knew, Dean’s arms were wrapped around you and he was hugging you to his chest, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. He held you while you let all the emotions dredged up over the past few days loose, let all the tears you’d held back flow. By the time they dried up, the front of Dean’s flannel shirt was damp and your throat hurt from sobbing.

“I didn’t mean to turn into a sobbing mess in the middle of my kitchen,” you muttered, scrubbing a hand over your face. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean cupped your cheek, his fingers sliding into your hair, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “You’re sorry? For what? Almost dying? For having an asshole ex-boyfriend who almost got you killed because of a witch’s curse?” He shook his head, a gentle smile on his face. “Not something you need to apologize for.”

The air was thick, tense, some kind of electric heat thrumming between you. You dragged in a breath, a breath that was cut off by Dean’s mouth crashing into yours, kissing you long and hard. You pushed up and into the kiss, your breasts pressed to his chest, a low moan escaping you.

It had been too long since you’d been kissed the way Dean was kissing you - tender and sweet, but with an underlying current of desperation and need, as if he was holding back, keeping himself from doing what he really wanted to do to you. God, you couldn’t stop imagining the things he could do to you, things you wanted him to do to you. The thought had your body burning with desire.

Dean’s hands slid down your sides and over your ass. He lifted you easily and set you on the counter, stepping between your open legs, pulling you forward, his hips nestled against yours. Jesus, you could feel his arousal, so hard behind the thick denim of his jeans. Your head fell back, his lips on your jaw, your neck, every touch of his lips to your skin making you ache for more.

You moaned, wrapped your legs around the back of Dean’s thighs, the fingers of one hand tangled in his hair, holding him closer as the kiss deepened. You fumbled with the button on his jeans, impatiently tugging them open, wanting to touch him, but you pulled away at the last second, breaking off the kiss; the constant insecurity you felt causing your brain to misfire, to make you think that you weren’t good enough for someone like Dean, that there was no way he’d want you touching him, that he wouldn’t want to keep touching you, especially once he saw you with your clothes off. Your hands dropped to your side, your body sagging as the doubts flooded you.

Dean stepped back, his full pink lips kiss swollen, the pupils of his green eyes blown wide with lust, his chest heaving, his cock full, straining for release behind his partially undone pants, his hands clenched in fists at his side.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry,” he panted. “I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Your stomach clenched and you were sure you were going to be sick. There it was. You bit your lip, trying not to cry, nodding, staring at your feet swinging against the counter. Same story, different day.

“It’s alright, Dean. I get it,” you muttered. “Why would someone like you want to have sex with someone like me. Or even kiss me, for that matter.” You started to slide off the counter, intent on politely showing Dean to the door, after which you were going to drown your sorrows with the bottle of Jack hidden in the back of the cereal cupboard. Your feet hadn’t even touched the floor before Dean was on you, his hands back on your waist, his lips inches from yours.

“Dean, what are you doing?” you murmured.

His arm slid around your back and he was back standing between your legs, pressed up against you, holding you on the counter, his breath warm against your skin. “Do you want me to kiss you, Y/N?” he whispered.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a weak squeak. Oh God, this was one of those key moments in life, when it was possible you could be really, genuinely cool - and you were failing one hundred percent. All you could do was nod.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask before I kissed you the first time,” he grinned. 

“When? The time you kissed me to save my life, or just a few seconds ago?” you breathed.

“A few seconds ago,” he chuckled.

“You’re forgiven,” you giggled.

And then he was kissing you, a kiss that took your breath away, that made your heart race, and had you clinging to him like you were drowning and he was your life preserver. 

Your shirt hit the floor, along with Dean’s, your nakedness making you blush. You forced yourself to think about Dean and the things he was making you feel, how he was touching you, how he was kissing you, how he moaning a little bit in the back of his throat. You pushed all of your self doubts aside and let yourself get lost in the man who had his mouth wrapped around one of your lace covered breasts, sucking greedily, while he was also kneading the other breast, his thumb circling the nipple, flicking the hardening nub.

Heat was already pooling in the pit of your stomach and a fine sheen of sweat was breaking out all over your body, even though Dean hadn’t done anything more than kiss you. You weren’t sure how you were going to survive anything more.

Dean’s lips were moving up your neck and across your jaw. He intertwined his fingers with yours as he nibbled on your earlobe, pulling your hand between your bodies. “I need you to touch me, Y/N,” he whispered. “Please.”

At some point he must have pushed his jeans down, because your hand slid easily past the waistband of his boxers and down the length of his shaft, a stuttering groan coming from him when you closed your hand around the shaft and stroked him. His hips moved with your hand, his kisses increasing in intensity as you caressed him, his hands all over you, pulling at your clothes until you were sitting on your kitchen counter with nothing on but your bra and panties, Dean’s face buried between your breasts, his hands on your thighs and moving closer to exactly where you wanted them.

He dragged his fingers up your leg, skimming the edge of your panties, sliding beneath them to brush a finger through the damp folds. You moaned, squirming, your head falling back, your hips rising off the counter as two of Dean’s fingers slid into you, crooking just right, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars and gasping his name. He didn’t stop, dragging you to the edge of the counter, two fingers deep, the palm of his hand pressed up against you, his mouth on yours swallowing the obscene groans you couldn’t hold back as you came on his fingers, your slick running over his hand.

Dean released you, just long enough to kick off his boots and push his jeans and boxers completely off, while you removed the bra and now wet panties, and then he was easing into you, peppering you with kisses, slowly pumping his hips, allowing you time to adjust to his substantial size. His hands were on your ass and he was moving, pulling you closer with every thrust, so tight, so close, so perfect, that you weren’t sure how long you could take it. It was almost too much, a pleasure so insanely wonderful it bordered on painful.

When he whispered “lean back” you did as you were told, leaning back on your hands, blushing as Dean stared at you, devouring you with his eyes, his hands running over every curve, every flaw, every mark. He was murmuring under his breath, murmuring how gorgeous you were, how perfect, how sweet, words that had your head spinning and your heart pounding. Words no one had ever said to you before.

Dean’s hands slid under your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as he yanked you forward, slamming into you over and over, his cock dragging against your sweet spot every time he pulled out, his taut abs pressing into your clit with each thrust. 

You were so close, right on the edge, so close it wouldn’t take much to push you right over it. You slid your hand down your stomach, between your legs, circling your clit with two fingers even while Dean pounded into you, his eyes closed, his cock twitching and pulsing even as you climaxed, your orgasm exploding through you. 

Dean lifted you, holding you close, his tight, even thrusts prolonging your pleasure, dragging it out until you were dizzy with the sensations overwhelming you. He came with a quiet grunt, his lips on yours, kissing you breathless. Again.

He held you, his lips drifting over your neck and shoulders, his hands gently caressing you. You kept your arms around him, not wanting him to leave, wishing he could stay forever. When he stepped away from you, you braced yourself for the inevitable, awkward goodbyes that were coming.

Instead, Dean held his hand out to you, a slight smirk on his face. You took it gingerly, not sure what was happening. 

“Bedroom?” Dean murmured.

“Bedroom?” you repeated, confused.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckled. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave just yet.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you close. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Bedroom’s down that hall,” you whispered, pointing over his shoulder.

Dean kissed you, a kiss that only served to reignite the passion between you. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he growled.


End file.
